Author Bruce DeSilva shows NPR's Jennifer Ludden around Providence's America Street, where he imagines his main character, Liam Mulligan, lives "in an apartment furnished with a Salvation Army mattress, an ancient Frigidaire and not much else."

Jennifer Ludden
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Originally published on July 17, 2012 10:20 am

Providence, R.I., has a history of mob violence rivaling that of New York or New Jersey, but it comes with a gritty intimacy that could only be found in the nation's littlest state. Author Bruce DeSilva says that's what makes Providence the perfect place to set his crime fiction.

"It is big enough to have the usual array of urban problems," he says. "But it's so small that it's claustrophobic. It's very hard to keep a secret in places like that."

That smallness has also made crime something like a spectator sport in the city. Just consider the lunchtime scene at Caserta Pizzeria, a no-frills joint in the city's Italian neighborhood. At the register, DeSilva reveals that he writes murder mysteries, and suddenly the next guy in line, firefighter Randy Crowe, jumps in with, "Hey, do a book on that guy up there in Woonsocket."

Crowe explains that the Woonsocket serial killer was convicted of murdering three young girls. "It takes a really special kind of person to kill somebody with your bare hands and then dismember their body like that," he says, lowering his voice.

The man at the register nods, then chimes in with another gruesome tale. And on and on they go.

"You remember the guy who murdered the family with a crossbow?" DeSilva asks. Yes, they do.

Centuries Of Corruption

Mayhem and murder have long been a fact of life in Providence, something DeSilva learned while working as a young reporter at The Providence Journal in the 1970s and '80s. So when DeSilva launched a second career as a crime novelist a few years ago, he says he knew that was where he would set his stories.

DeSilva is in love with the city's attitude. But he says you can't really understand that attitude unless you start at the very beginning, in 1636, when the free-thinking heretic Roger Williams founded the city.

Today, a granite statue of Williams towers over Prospect Terrace Park, a grassy plateau that overlooks downtown Providence. DeSilva says corruption set in soon after the city was founded. He points toward the horizon to Narragansett Bay, where colonial leaders were complicit in piracy, then the slave trade.

After the Civil War, DeSilva says, a political machine stayed in power by buying votes. Amid the skyline below, he points to the building where 20th century mob boss Raymond Patriarca once decided everything from who got liquor licenses to which songs were played on the radio. Then there's the imposing, baroque City Hall, where Providence's longest serving mayor, Buddy Cianci, was convicted of a felony while in office — twice.

"Providence is a place with an enormous chip on its shoulder and an inferiority complex," DeSilva says. "This was captured absolutely perfectly in a cartoon by Don Bousquet, a local artist."

DeSilva says he wanted the central character of his novels to embody that Providence attitude, so he based the investigative reporter Liam Mulligan partly on himself, "except that he's 25 years younger, he's 8 inches taller [and] he's quicker with a quip."

But DeSilva also crafted the young, tall, witty Mulligan as a Providence native. He didn't want an outsider who might look down on the place. Instead, Mulligan grew up in a working-class Providence neighborhood, and he's comfortable in the moral gray area between right and wrong.

"Mulligan's job is to uncover corruption," DeSilva says. "But he sees nothing wrong with — or even inconsistent with — placing a bet with his bookie or paying a small bribe to keep his decrepit car on the road. In one of the books, Mulligan says graft comes in two varieties, good and bad, just like cholesterol."

In DeSilva's first book, Rogue Island, Mulligan's girlfriend wonders why he doesn't want to leave Providence and move on to the big time. Mulligan explains himself by fondly recounting the city's history of corruption:

"I grew up here. I know the cops and the robbers, the barbers and the bartenders, the judges and the hit men, the whores and the priests. I know the state legislature and the Mafia inside out, and they're pretty much the same thing. When I write about a politician buying votes or a cop on the pad, the jaded citizenry just chuckles and shrugs its shoulders. That used to bother me. It doesn't anymore. Rogue Island is a theme park for investigative reporters. It never closes, and I can ride the roller coaster free all day."

'My God, I Remember All These Stories'

Mulligan lives on America Street, a road made up of triple-deckers, many with sagging porches and peeling paint.

"I lived here myself in one of these buildings when it was all I could afford at a time that I was getting a divorce," DeSilva says.

Mulligan is in the same situation and, like DeSilva once did, he spends long hours at his newspaper job — in this case, at the fictional Providence Dispatch. DeSilva has updated the Dispatch newsroom for the digital age, so Mulligan is forever filling in for colleagues who have been laid off and fending off story assignments about cute animals, designed to boost declining readership. Still, between it all, he manages to dig up the goods on the serial arsonist, the corrupt politician and the murderer.

At the city's real newspaper, The Providence Journal, DeSilva runs into his old colleague Phil Kukielski. Kukielski says the reality of Providence is unbelievable enough, so it's odd to see it rendered as fiction.

"People will read this and say, 'My God, what a fertile imagination Bruce DeSilva has,' " he says with a laugh. "And I read it and say, 'My God, I remember all these stories.' "

Take DeSilva's second book, Cliff Walk, which centers on a real-life legislative loophole that, until recently, made prostitution legal as long as it was inside. DeSilva says that for years politicians talked about closing the loophole, yet did nothing. Meanwhile, places like Club Fantasies — a strip club on the edge of town whose parking lot is amazingly full on a weekday afternoon — morphed into brothels.

"Tourist buses started arriving from out of town with customers," he says. "At the height of this, this little state had 30 brothels operating openly, and it was big business."

Inside, over blaring music, DeSilva recalls the many evenings he spent at the club doing research, chatting up bouncers, bartenders and the women in skimpy bras and thongs.

"Initially it was embarrassing," he says, "because I was afraid people who I know might recognize me. And I would say, 'Well, I'm working on a book.' And they would go, 'Yeah, right.' "

But that never happened. And, thankfully, his wife found it all hilarious. As for that loophole allowing prostitution, lawmakers finally closed it in 2010.

DeSilva has already written his third book, tentatively titled Providence Rag and due out late next year. Like the others, it deals in that moral gray area he and his protagonist find so compelling.

"Mulligan has a very strong but shifting sense of justice that allows him to work with some unsavory people at times in order to bring worse people down," he says.

Because, according to DeSilva, in Providence it's not always easy to tell the good from the bad.

Copyright 2012 National Public Radio. To see more, visit http://www.npr.org/.

Transcript

RENEE MONTAGNE, HOST:

Little Rhode Island has a big history of mob violence. Author Bruce DeSilva learned all about it when he was a newspaper reporter in Providence. When he started writing crime novels, he knew that's where he had to set his stories.

Here's NPR's Jennifer Ludden with our latest installment of Crime in the City.

BRUCE DESILVA: It is big enough to have the usual array of urban problems. But it's so small that it's claustrophobic. It's very hard to keep a secret in places like that.

LUDDEN: That also means crime is something of a spectator sport. This becomes clear when we stop for lunch at Caserta's Pizzeria, a no frills joint in the city's Italian neighborhood.

UNIDENTIFIED WOMAN: Three-oh-two.

(SOUNDBITE OF A CASH REGISTER)

LUDDEN: As we order, it comes out that DeSilva writes murder mysteries. And suddenly the next guy in line jumps in.

RANDY CROWE: Do one on the guy up there on Woonsocket - the guy who killed the three girls - the serial killer, Jeffrey Mailhot.

LUDDEN: Randy Crowe is a firefighter who's followed the local murder scene for years.

CROWE: It takes a really special kind of person to kill somebody with your bare hands and then dismember their body like that. I mean it's just...

LUDDEN: The man at the register nods his head, then chimes in with another gruesome tale, and on and on they go.

You remember the guy who murdered the family with a cross bow? Remember that?

CROWE: That was - yeah, what was his name?

LUDDEN: Murder and mayhem, just a fact of life here. To really understand why, DeSilva takes me on a driving tour. First stop, Prospect Terrace Park.

(SOUNDBITE OF CAR DOORS)

LUDDEN: On a grassy plateau is a towering granite statute of Roger Williams. He's the free-thinking heretic who founded Providence in 1636, and DeSilva says corruption set in not long after. He points toward the horizon, Narragansett Bay, where colonial leaders were complicit in piracy, then the slave trade.

On a downtown street below, the office of mob boss Raymond Patriarca, who once decided everything from who got a liquor licenses to which songs were played on the radio. And just over, the imposing Baroque City Hall, where the Providence's longest serving mayor, Buddy Cianci, was convicted of a felony while in office - twice.

DESILVA: Providence is a place with an enormous chip on its shoulder and an inferiority complex. This was captured absolutely perfectly in a cartoon by Don Bousquet, a local artist. The cartoon showed two people driving in an automobile across the state line, and the overhead highway sign said: Now Entering Rhode Island, Keep Your Smart Remarks To Yourself.

LUDDEN: DeSilva wanted the central character of his novels to embody that attitude. OK, investigative reporter Liam Mulligan is based partly on himself.

LUDDEN: But DeSilva crafted young, tall, witty Mulligan as a Providence native, and he's comfortable in the moral gray area between right and wrong.

DESILVA: Mulligan's job is to uncover corruption. But he sees nothing wrong with, or even inconsistent with, placing a bet with his bookie, or paying a small bribe to keep his decrepit car on the road. In one of the books, Mulligan says Graft comes in two varieties, good and bad, just like cholesterol.

LUDDEN: In DeSilva's first book, "Rogue Island," Mulligan's girlfriend wonders why he doesn't want to leave Providence and move on to the big time. Mulligan explains by fondly recounting the city's history of corruption.

DESILVA: I grew up here. I know the cops and the robbers, the barbers and the bartenders, the judges and the hit men, the whores and the priests. I know the state legislature and the Mafia inside and out - they're pretty much the same thing. When I write about a politician buying votes or a cop on the pad, the jaded citizenry just chuckles and shrugs its shoulders. That used to bother me. It doesn't anymore. Rogue Island is a theme park for investigative reporters. It never closes and I can ride the rollercoaster free.

This is America Street on Federal Hill in Providence.

LUDDEN: DeSilva shows me where his character lives, a street of triple-deckers, many with sagging porches and peeling paint.

DESILVA: I lived here myself in one of these buildings when it was all I could afford, at a time that I was getting a divorce.

LUDDEN: Mulligan's in the same situation. And like DeSilva did, he spends long hours at his newspaper job - in this case the fictional Providence Dispatch. We pass by the city's real newspaper, the Providence Journal...

(SOUNDBITE OF BANGING)

LUDDEN: ...and in the lobby run into one of DeSilva's old colleagues. Phil Kukielski says the truth in Providence is unbelievable enough. It's odd to see it rendered as fiction.

PHIL KUKIELSKI: And people will read this and say, my God, you know, what a fertile imagination Bruce DeSilva has. And I read it and say, my God, I remember all these stories.

(LAUGHTER)

LUDDEN: Take DeSilva's second book, "Cliff Walk." The story centers on a real life legislative loophole. Until recently it actually made prostitution legal as long as it was inside.

(SOUNDBITE OF CAR DOOR CLOSING)

LUDDEN: We pull up to Club Fantasies, where DeSilva did a lot of research. It's a strip club whose parking lot is amazingly full on a weekday afternoon.

DESILVA: Tourist buses started arriving from out of town with customers. And at the height of this, this little state had 30 brothels operating openly, and it was big business.

(SOUNDBITE OF MUSIC)

LUDDEN: We step inside, and DeSilva explains how he'd come here to chat up the bouncers, the bartenders, and the women in skimpy bras and thongs.

DESILVA: Well, initially it was embarrassing because I was afraid people who I know might recognize me. And I would say, well, I'm working on a book about - and they would go, yeah, right.

LUDDEN: But that never happened. And thankfully, his wife found it all hilarious. As for that loophole allowing prostitution, lawmakers finally closed it in 2010.

Bruce DeSilva has already written his third book, tentatively titled "Providence Rag," and due out next year. Like the others, it deals in that moral gray area he and his protagonist find so compelling.

DESILVA: Mulligan has a very strong but shifting sense of justice that allows him to work with some unsavory people at times in order to bring worse people down.

LUDDEN: Because in Providence, he says, it's not always easy to tell the good from the bad.

Jennifer Ludden, NPR News.

(SOUNDBITE OF MUSIC)

MONTAGNE: Those of you who are traveling this summer, check out our Crime in the City map at NPR.org to see if you too can get on the trail of a crime created by one of our mystery writers.